


Who Said The Apocalypse Was A Bad Thing?

by superwholocktrashyee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Bottom Dean Winchester, F/F, F/M, M/M, Post Season One Dean, Post-War, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, everyone is in military clothing because I love it, imagine Misha Collins with militar clothes oh sweet goodness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superwholocktrashyee/pseuds/superwholocktrashyee
Summary: It's 2021 and Dean is finally free from Michael's grasp. It's been 15 years since he said "yes" to the son-of-a-bitch who imprisoned and killed him inside his own body. Now he had to get used to hunt and fight again, to bring the world to peace again after the damages Michael caused. Of course, he isn't alone, he got angels who don't trust him, his brother, his brother's wife (who was totally frightened by), a group of moody teenagers and even a husband by accident. Little did he know that those people were about to become his new family.





	Who Said The Apocalypse Was A Bad Thing?

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start to read, I want to say something regarding this work:  
> 1\. This is my first English-written fic, so there might be mistakes and I apologize in advance. If you notice them, please tell me so I can modify it!  
> 2\. The Dean I use here is the one we found at the end of season one, so that's why he isn't as scarred as he is now. It's also the first time I write that kind of Dean, so if you find it out of character, please tell me! I'd love to make this as near as the real Dean as possible.  
> 3\. Updates will be slow. I'm telling you now because it took me a lot to write this, so you know why it might take me a whole damn lot to upload new chapters. I'll try to do so every one or two weeks, but I don't really know how long it will take me to write the next chapters.  
> 4\. I hope you'll enjoy this! I'll add new informations about this universe and its rules later on, but I hope it will interest you enough to stick around ;)

The first thing he remembers is air. Well, not exactly the physical feeling of air. It wasn’t the kind of air running through your hair that gave you that sense of tranquility and hope. This didn’t even taste like life. It was a fire burning up his throat like a fire rising from his soul, almost if it wanted him to open his mouth and steal all the oxygen around him. He had this feeling inside him for a while now, but he was too scared to open his eyes and let his body function properly again.

Well, after his possession at least. After all, a freaking archangel – fucking Michael – just left his body after years. He doesn’t even remember when he was – yes, when. His last memories were from 2006, but he was sure that not a while ago he heard talking about 2010 as “long ago”, so he was fairly certain he was at least in 2016. No reason why six years after, he just liked the ringing of it. After all, his presentation as “the smart-ass who was possessed by the archangel Michael for ten years” seemed to fit him quite well. It's not like he did anything more relevant in his life before that. Just a few hunts with his Dad, very few all by himself and drinking. A lot of the last thing. 

He was just really glad it was all over. He doesn’t remember a lot about his time with Michael, but he was almost certain that he killed innocent people. Why should a freaking _angel_ do that? Were they even that bad? Aren’t they meant to be, like, all lovey-dovey with harps, halo and all those other cute and pure stuff? Apparently not. And shouldn’t they help humans to – Oh, he really needed to breathe now. Definitely.

He pulled himself up, gasping for air and trying to reach a stabile breathing. As soon as he calmed himself – and his lungs a little more – he took a look around himself. He was on a bed made of some kind of iron with a pillow placed where his head used to be just a few moments ago, and the room he was in seemed a little infirmary, with medicines, hospital stuff, monitors all around him measuring his pulse and general conditions and a-few-but-huge windows on the walls at his sides. It seemed like he stayed there for a while, given the fact that there were a whole lot of gifts – for him, since that was his room – on the desk in front of the bed.

He knew very well that he shouldn’t go and have a look at all those pretty papers laying on the table all by themselves, but he couldn’t help it. He has always been the curious one, after all. He remembered his mom used to tell him that “he was as private as a cat”, which could be also translated in: “he doesn't give two fucks about your privacy and he will find out about all your secrets”. But those were documents about him, right? That was his hospital – sort of – room, and he wasn’t minding someone else’s business if he was curious about what happened to him since Michael left his body, right? He wasn’t even so sure about it. But no one was there to stop him, so it wasn’t his problem.

He landed his feet on the floor and almost screamed at the extremely cold feeling against his feet. Couldn’t they give him socks, at least? He hated walking without socks or shoes, but he was lucky enough there was a chair near the desk, so he could sit down again with a foot hid under the tight of his other leg – sweet warmness, thank God – and read those files.

_Dean Winchester. Son of John and Mary Winchester, brother of Sam Winchester (hunter chief and referent)._

What was that last bit supposed to be? Sam gave up hunter life for good. He wanted to study law and become a defense attorney, he had a better life than… that. Than his life. Although he didn’t understand at all that last statement, he shook his head, keeping on reading.

_Michael’s true vessel. When the archangel Michael was killed by Castiel (commander of this unit), his body had to be purified and burned (read the section about hunter funerals)._

Good. Yes, good, they burned his body. It took him a few seconds before realizing he was still there and, therefore, not burned. It was either because they did something wrong or didn’t burn the body at all. The second option seemed more plausible.

_Sam Winchester, though, suggested against it._

Yeah, he expected that from his little brother. He always had a heart of gold.

_Taking this suggestion as valid, Castiel ordered to resurrect him._

Wait.

Waitwaitwait.

“What the fuck?” he said aloud, without even realizing it. He slid the paper in his hand on another spot on the table, just to reveal the autopsy of his own body after Michael’s death printed on the sheet under it. His face was bruised on his jawline, cheek, eyes and there were quite a few cuts as well. Then, on his torso there was a huge wound, presumably caused by the weapon this Casteel – fucking weird names, he doesn’t even remember how that thing is spelled – used on him. He immediately led a hand up to that same point, making it go under the thin layer of clothes they put on him, but he didn’t find anything remotely similar to that wound. He did the same with his face a second after, but he didn’t have any cuts or bruises. He was okay.

They truly did resurrect him, with all pros included. He was okay again – well, his body was, he sure remembered all his not so pleasant past life, but that was good enough.

_The subject reported a huge wound on the torso that, along all the multiple bruises and cuts on the face, needed a divine action. Anael (captain of the second division, first training mentor) used her grace to heal him, even if reluctantly. Castiel offered to cure the subject first, but he was too weak due to his battle against Michael._

What. The. Fuck.

Grace? Anal? Why should someone call himself like that? Was he in a weird porn paradise where everyone had weird names? Were they even real? Probably he was still inside his head. Wait, was that classified as a dream or just –

**_Shut up._ **

What in the ever-loving fuck was that. He honest to God heard a fucking voice inside his head, and it wasn’t his own at all. So, it wasn’t even Michael’s, since he always used his voice to talk to him. Was it even possible that someone was communicating with him in his head using his thoughts? Apparently, yes.

**_Dean, listen to me. I can’t move right now, but you have to follow my voice._ **

What voice, the one he heard inside his head? God, he missed hunting ghosts so much. It was a lot easier than angels and demons and Apocalypses and –

**_Yes, my voice._ **

It deepened as it said the very last thing, with an almost annoyed tone. Maybe he should stop thinking about things that weren’t as important at the moment. Maybe he should just _follow the voice_ , whatever it meant. If it was inside his head, was he still able to obey that order?

**_Just follow it, Dean. Now._ **

This time, his annoyance melted with anger. Maybe it was better to do as he was told. He got up, hissing as soon as his warm feet entered in contact with the floor. He _really_ wanted a pair of socks. But he ignored that annoying feeling and focused on what he had to do to open the locked door. He could kick it open, but the last time he did that, his leg remained stuck into the door. Yeah, not a good memory.

**_The key is on the desk, Dean._ **

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, huffing while he took the key. He didn’t like this voice at all. Sure, its tone was deep and made him hot in all the right places, but that was cool. Dean always liked guys just as much as girls, and this one seemed pretty handsome, great masturbation material. Maybe even occasional sex if he was into that kind of thing. He was really hoping he was because, holy fuck, that voice would make him come with no effort. But he didn’t like him, so that was such a shame.

After trying over and over again, the door opened and Dean placed the key back to where it was supposed to be. Then he wandered in the hall, trying to hear that damn voice again. If he was being honest, he was perfectly fine before it came into his life, and he was entertaining himself inside that room. But this was normal, it sure wasn’t the first time someone bothered and ordered him something. He was pretty used to it.

**_Don’t think about useless things. Follow the path with the wooden doors._ **

Oh, he was the one to talk. It’s not like Dean’s life was so full of important things to think about – at the contrary, actually. Pretty boring life like everyone else. But he did what the voice said, following the path that the wooden doors marked until he heard it again.

**_On the left there’s a door, open it. I’m inside._ **

Finally. He swung the door open, just to stare at a man with messy pitch-black hair, slightly tanned skin and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. He looked at those eyes a little longer. They were truly beautiful, he could see both the ocean and the sky, if he stared long enough. His lips were cracked, but he was ready to bet that licking them wasn’t that bad. He wore some sort of military clothing; combat pants, a huge green jacket, black boots and he was even able to see the hem of a white shirt near his neck. He was sitting on a chair beside the bed with an open book in his hands, looking at him fierce and vulnerable at the same time. It was almost surreal, but Dean closed the door anyway.

The man could be dangerous – he was talking inside his head after all – but damn, that gaze was magnetic. He didn’t know what this feeling was exactly, but he was attracted to it. It wasn’t physical, he didn’t want to have sex or kiss him or think about his body, and it wasn’t sentimental – he didn’t even know him, after all. It was something more. It was like he couldn’t gravitate away from him and not falling apart, as if he was the only reason why he was still keeping all this together. He never felt something as strong as that, not even with Cassie, or Lisa, or– or Sam. The only time he felt this involved with something was when four cannibals held him captive and drugged him to stop him from fighting. The only difference is that now he isn’t drugged. Now he was standing in front of a man who spoke to him using some kind of telepathic powers and to whom he somehow felt attracted to for no fucking reason.

That crap was scary. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he said suddenly. He closed the book that laid in his lap and stood up, revealing his true stature. He expected him to be a lot shorter than… What could it be? 5’11”? Yeah, something like that. Giving the fact that he was just an inch taller – and that only Sam was taller than him – he was almost surprised.

“Yeah,” he simply answered, watching him even more interested than before. “A certain someone wanted me to live, after all.” He winked after finishing to say that sentence. He freaking _winked_ to a guy who didn’t even know. Well, he always knew he was a bit gay, but he’d never done something like that. Guess he was losing his mind over some handsome dude with telepathic powers.

Not so bad, all thing considered.

The man took a few steps towards him, staring his face with an interested gaze. Dean felt those blue eyes piercing through his soul, analyzing every little piece of him. He didn’t stop walking until he was in his private space. Normally he would be annoyed or uncomfortable with this kind of intimacy, but there was something warm and reassuring about it too. Damn, why was he so comfortable with this guy?

“Because I bonded us.” He said, without further explanation. Instead, he just watched him open his green eyes, obviously confused. “Your eyes are truly beautiful as Sam describes them.” He adds in the end, thing that makes Dean even more confused but happy at the same time. _Oh, cut the crap Winchester. You just met him, you can’t fall for him already._

“Okay, okay.” He just began, taking a step back. As if he was expecting him to do so, the man took one forward. Dean was about to call him out, but he stopped before doing so when he caught the other man’s posture. He was relaxed, his bright blue eyes not fully opened, the head tilted to the side and his mouth slightly open, just to reveal his shiny-white teeth. He didn’t know why that vision stopped him, but it did. It made even more, he made him talk about what was bothering him. “Who are you?” he asked, slightly moving his head to the left. Almost like he didn’t know if trusting him was actually a good idea.

He moved his head too, this time to look at him straight in the eyes. “My name is Castiel,” he answered. “I’m an angel.”

Yeah, he pretty figured that out. In fact, he noticed the enormous black wings that were in front of him, presumably part of his body, but he didn’t feel like mentioning them before. Angel, human, they’re all the same. Mostly dicks, some are handsome and beautiful, others just bad. Just like people. And, as a normal person with a functioning brain, he focused on the insanely hot body he found somewhere. He could even step on him and he would have thanked him.

But now he had to concentrate on this conversation, for God’s sake. Sometimes he hated his own brain. “Yeah, I, uh,” he gestured to the enormous black wings, “imagined that.”

Casteel – that was his weird name of his, right? – flapped his wings in pleasantness, giving him a quick smile too. Needless to say that his smile was beautiful too, just like the rest of his immensely gorgeous self. Fuck, Dean was going to die before even finishing to talk to him. He had to be quick and come up with another question, just to focus on something else. “Dean Winchester,” he simply said, just because he felt like this was appropriate. He already said what his name was, so it seemed just fair that Dean did too.

“I know,” he responded, his smile fading at every second that passed. “Everyone knows who you are.” He guessed he looked confused again, because the angel started to explain something more about that topic. “You’re Michael’s true vessel. The righteous man.” He stated. His blue eyes met the suspicious gaze of the other man with him before speaking again, this time his voice was full worry. “The boy with angel grace.”

Dean was petrified. Angel grace? He wasn’t Michael anymore, why should he have a worrying amount of grace inside him? “Impossible.” was all Dean was able to exhale. Well, before explaining himself. “I’m human, always have been. Michael was inside me for years, but now he’s gone. I can’t have his grace, I’m sorry Casteel, it seems like you resurrected me for a reason I–”

“Castiel,” He corrected, still looking at him with those beautiful blue eyes of his. It was obvious that Dean was panicking – who wouldn’t? An angel just said that he had angel grace left from God-knows-what and he was famous because of that. Everyone would be freaking out. But he didn’t have time for that. He had to listen to what he was saying. “And we didn’t resurrect you for your grace. Your brother Sam asked me to do so. He thought you could help us, and I trust him.”

Sam asked – okay that was definitely the point where he had to stop hunting. Sam was in Stanford hating the family business and trying to get a better life ten years ago, he couldn’t have just thrown that all away. And if he had, then he was going to send his ass back to university because he deserved it. But that wasn’t the main focus of the situation. “Help with what? Michael is dead, there’s nothing else to fight against right now.”

Castil – right? Was that his name? – chuckled. “There are plenty of things to fight against now that Michael is gone. First of all, his angels, his followers. He had some demons and monsters with him. That’s why we have nearly twenty professional hunters with us.”

Us. So, there was an organization against Michael and his army. Good to know. “And you’re talking to me.” He blurted out, raising an eyebrow. “Of all the things you ought to do, you decided to talk to me at two in the morning out of boredom.”

“Someone had to.” He answered. “You were awake, and I was the only one acknowledging it. Leaving you to read about your death didn’t seem… convenient.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, not getting why he was still talking with an angel who wanted God-knows-what from him. The fact that he was Sam’s friend didn’t mean shit. “Sure.” He muttered, before huffing. “So, what was that bond were you talking about?” he asked then, not really know what he could say other than that to keep the conversation going. He really was curious about this angel and he won’t miss any little detail.

He stiffened. Ouch, he touched a rough – or sensitive – spot. “We needed to keep you under observation.” He answers finally. “Nearly everybody doesn’t believe in Michael’s death, including me. We can’t risk again.”

“So? Why should this be my fault?”

“It isn’t.” he responded, almost feeling obliged to. At least, that’s what Dean felt in his voice. “You didn’t know. You weren’t meant for-” he stopped, taking a deep breath before going on with the explanation, “for saying ‘yes’ that early. Michael tricked all of us.”

Dean narrowed his eyebrows. “I still don’t get why this should be connected to that bond, Castil.”

“Castiel.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, Dean.” He huffed. “Repeat after me.”

“Why should I-”

He didn’t let him finish. “Cas-ti-el.”

“Cas-tee-”

He stopped him again, pointing out how he should have pronounced it. He was the one to know his name, after all. Dean sure didn’t like it, but he could see why he was doing it. Enochian wasn’t his first language and he was just trying to get him to pronounce his name in the right way. Totally understandable. He would interrupt people too if they couldn’t say his name right. “The ‘I’ is shorter. There’s a difference, like there is one between fit and feet.” The angel explained patiently.

“Okay, then.” The other said, determined to say it right. “Cas-ti-el.”

A smile spread on Castiel’s face as soon as he heard his name. “That’s the right pronunciation.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna call you Cas.” Dean stated, rolling his eyes. No need to judge him, it was the thing he wanted to do from the beginning. Those long-ass angelic names were way too complicated for him, and he usually shortened them in his head. Cast- Cas wasn’t an exception.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I won’t stop you.” He stated, most definitely trying to say that he liked the nickname. After years of archangel control over his body, Dean was good at translating what-angels-say in what-they-actually-mean. Castiel didn’t have bad intentions, unlike most of them. He was a good guy, as far as Dean knew.

“Good.” He nodded. Then he looked at him again, trying to get him to answer to his doubts. “Now you wanna answer to the goddamn question?” he asked, crossing his arms. He knew he was being a little rude on the guy who basically resurrected him from the eternal void of death, but he had to understand what was going on exactly and what he’s gotten himself into.

Castiel sighed. “It’s a marriage bond.” He stated finally.

A _marriage_ bond. A MARRIAGE bond. He really was doomed. “A what?” he asked in the nicest way possible, even if ‘nice’ wasn’t exactly what he considered a priority, given the crazy circumstances he was in. Sure, he has seen all sorts of weird shit, but a marriage bond between an angel and a human definitely topped the list.

“A marriage bo-”

“Yeah Sherlock, I got it.” He said, interrupting him. “What does it mean?”

He huffed. “Our souls are one.” He said, without adding anything else. And just with that information, Dean was about to throw hands at him because there was no way – no fucking way – that he would have agreed on that if anybody asked him, ever. Fortunately, the angel didn’t stop – even if it sure seemed like it, since he stopped talking for a good minute – and explained further what he meant. “The mark on your shoulder is imprinted on your soul too.” Great, now he had to look if there was some herotical symbolism on his freaking shoulder too.

But that was even weirder than actual marriage with a corpse, which was what Dean was picturing in his head ever since the angel mentioned that bond. “Dude, what the fuck.”

“We needed to make you stay here and analyze you to be sure Michael hadn’t left something inside you to kill someone else.” He explained patiently. “I didn’t want to because no one asked you, but we had no other choice. I was the only one compatible with you. I had to.”

Maybe this Cas wasn’t that bad. He was _forced_ to take on this marriage bond thing, right? Hell, he could even be more uncomfortable than Dean was, for all he knew. And, not to praise himself way too much than he already does, but he knew a whole lot of things about angels. Like the fact that they all hated being bonded to someone, marriage being the most horrifying idea that could cross their minds. He could also see it through his face: he was not happy. But then again, he was an angel. They didn’t laugh that much.

“Compatible?” He asked then. “Like- Like blood transfusions?”

“Yes, exactly.” He answered. “Your soul is… red. Angry, anxious, ready to fight at any given moment. Mine is blue, calmer, more confident in itself, more thoughtful.” He stopped himself to sigh another time. How many times did he do that already? He loved doing that, didn’t he? Like he already said to himself, hundreds of times, he will never understand angels – or archangels, for what mattered. “It’s not a perfect match, but it was the closest.”

He shook his head, trying to prioritize his questions. He wanted to go to bed, even if he technically just woke up from being actually dead. “Alright, what are the consequences?” He thought this was the most important one, right? If something happened to him after being, well, resurrected, it was pretty important for him to know the risks he could get himself into. Quite frankly, though, he didn’t expect a precise answer.

“I don’t know.” Ah, that was it. He knew it. Goddamn angels and their weird spells. “It’s the first time we use this bond between an angel and a human. There are no manuals or warnings about this.”

“Of course.” He giggled, but added a sarcastic tone to the answer. It was his way of dealing with things, after all. Obviously, the angel didn’t know, but he’ll get comfortable with it soon enough. They were married, for God’s sake, they’ll have to be around each other for a long while.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, lowering his stare.

That got Dean’s attention. He lowered his stare because he was sorry about this shit of a situation and he said it out loud. In all those years that Michael was inside him, he had never seen an angel do it. They would rather die than admitting they were sorry or wrong. He even saw proof of that theory. An angel – Jeremiah maybe? – went straight into battle knowing that he was going to die just because Zachariah was right and he wasn’t. Castiel, on the other hand, didn’t have a problem telling him straight away that he was sorry that he might be uncomfortable with how a marriage with a stranger will feel like.

“Don’t be,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them. “We’re gonna know each other and I’ll tell you what feels weird. That way, you know what you can do to make it better for the both of us. You got me, Cas?”

He felt something rumbling in his stomach, a little warm sparkle that was gently settling in his body, way more peaceful than Michael’s grace. He wasn’t startled, he was feeling quite good actually. He even smiled and closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing calmly. It was probably the first time in years – maybe decades – that he was that relaxed. He’s pretty sure that Castiel got closer at some point, but he wasn’t sure.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself on the bed, the angel sitting on the same chair he found him when he opened the door. “Cas?” he called, hoping he could get his attention again.

“Yes.” He just answered, not raising his blue eyes from the book. Dean felt walls rising up between them, but he didn’t say anything either way, before slipping under the sheets and closing his eyes again, to sleep this time. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the angel’s eyes on him as soon as he fell sleeping on that bed. Yup, they were going to stay together for quite a long time.


End file.
